Preordained
by Reminiscent
Summary: Tentative continuation of Eight Weeks into Living. Because some things aren't meant to be left unsaid.
1. Moirai

_A/N:_ This is because I just can't leave Eight Weeks alone. I've constantly been thinking about it. There's **so** much more that I want said, but just wouldn't go together with the particular writing style or what Eight Weeks was supposed to revolve around, so I've continued on.

This is **such** a bad idea.

So yeah, if you're good without a sequel, great. This is mainly for my own peace of mind.

_**Inspi'song:**_ _Vinyl Scratch _by: **Kuroda**

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_**Preordained**_

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The camera jerks at first, its microphone picking up the boy's fumbling fingers as he adjusts the lens to focus on him. He isn't quite centered, but off to the side a little, and his bed is visible behind him from where he's sitting on the floor. He's serious, fidgety, but it's something other than nerves...something closer to fear. He leans away from the camera and frowns. He pulls at the band on his wrist. He scratches the back of his head before rubbing his neck a bit. He has to be younger than ten years old.

"Um. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this."

He pulls his knees up to his chest, burying his face into his jeans and threading his fingers through his hair before curling his hands into fists on his scalp. His shoulders shake, hardly noticeable, but enough to give him away. His breath quivers, and he inhales deeper, trying to calm himself. He remains like this, forgetting that the camera's still on, until the video's six minutes into the blank tape. He's whispering into his palms now, barely audible, and if anyone who reviewed the contents turned the volume up, they would be able to catch what he's saying after a few repetitions.

"I'm going to die. God, I can't do this. I'm going to die. This isn't right. I'm going to die. What do I tell Demyx? I'm going to die."

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Axel woke to the sound of his apartment buzzer early Friday morning. For a man whose weekends started with Friday and pulled a twelve hour shift the night before, this was reasonably unacceptable. The only strategic plan of action that came to his still fuzzy mind was to ignore the now frantic buzzing that was echoing through his sparingly furnished quarters. Then came the voice.

"God-fucking-dammit, Axel, get up!" Demyx. This instantly gave Axel every reason not to hold back his rage the next time he got his hands on the man. Demyx had been Axel's roommate all through their university years, and he knew the redhead better than anyone else, leading one to conclude that he knew better than to rouse the snoozing beanpole at the ungodly time of (Axel glanced grudgingly at his alarm clock) seven forty-two in the morning. As Axel rolled out of bed, he was momentarily concerned. Demyx was suicidal. Had his librarian boyfriend dumped him? Nothing, absolutely nothing, was important enough to wake the sleeping giant before he meant to on the weekend, whether it was Friday or no. Axel hit the buzzer with a vengeance.

"This better be good."

"No, no, it's not good! I mean, it might be for some people, but I don't know what you'll think, but you definitely have to see this, so please, please let me in without mauling my face off."

"It's too early in the morning for me to be intrigued. Come back when I wake up. Should be, I dunno, never."

"It's about Roxas!" Beneath Axel's apartment by three floors, Demyx held his breath, his bright eyes squeezed shut, and hoping it was a day where any mentioning of the blond would be forgivable.

"...The door's unlocked."

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	2. Muta

_A/N: _My mind reels.

_**Inspi'Song: **The Silence _by: **Mayday Parade

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_**Preordained**_

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The boy leans away from the camera and frowns. He pulls at the band on his wrist. He scratches the back of his head before rubbing his neck a bit. He can't be older than ten years old.

"Um. I'm doing this--making this video...whatever...because..." He sneezes, sniffing and rubbing his nose. "I don't know. I guess I'm just scared." He's sitting cross-legged today, and he picks at the lint on the heels of his socks. "Uh, it's been a year since the last time I tried doing this. Didn't work out so well." He coughs awkwardly. "I'm ten now, so...I'm a little braver now. So here goes." He takes a deep breath and squares his thin shoulders. "Last year I went to the hospital because I started to have a seizure. They thought I had (he says this very slowly) epilepsy, whatever that is. But it wasn't a seizure. I had a car-dee-ack arrest. It's kinda like a heart attack, but it's not, so it's kind of confusing. But I got it, and I was _nine_." He laughs strangely. "I thought only old people got that, but I guess I'm special." He quiets. "I don't like this kind of special." Shaking his head, he plows on. "They told me that I've got "Ward-Romano Syndrome". It's because my heart is like a slow battery--it takes longer to recharge in between beats. At least, that's what the doctors said. I haven't had a attack since, but I've fainted once because of it, and sometimes my heart skips a beat. It feels weird, like..." His fingers unconsciously rise to the spot on his chest over the muscle. "Like I can't breath, but only for a second. It doesn't hurt, just...feels weird.

"My parents tell me not to be scared. The doctor's tell me I don't need to be scared. I shouldn't be scared, but I am, even though I'm ten, and I'm almost grown up. I don't want to die, though. I could die from this, you know? I heard Mom and Dad talking about it when they thought I was sleeping, but Mom was crying, so I couldn't. I'm a coward." For the first time, the boy makes eye contact with the lens. His face is blank, his eyes are bloodshot, and there are dark circles set deep beneath his lower lashes. "I just want to forget about this whole thing. I want to forget about it. Completely. I wish I could have ignored it, like it never happened."The boy stops, as if he's afraid he'll take it back, but nods his head and continues.

"Yeah. I wish no one had told me."

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Demyx sat uncomfortably on the opposite side of Axel's sofa, carefully gauging the redhead's reaction to the video. The young man was still, his hands folded with thumbs pressed to lips, elbows on thighs, and expression unreadable. His eyes closed gently, and after that, he didn't move. Demyx anxiously waited, fretted, got a drink of water, and waited some more.

After twenty minutes,

"Just...don't watch the last one first, okay?"

he left the apartment.


End file.
